


Tangible

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Body Worship, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Foot Massage, Light Masochism, M/M, Nipple Play, No Plot/Plotless, Orgasm Delay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rope Bondage, Simultaneous Orgasm, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9299663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "'Come on, Shizu-chan,' Izaya drawls, letting the syllables pull into a deliberate taunt in the back of his throat as he arches his shoulders back together like he’s trying to touch his shoulderblades against each other. 'Can’t you make the knots any tighter than that?'" Izaya tries to tease Shizuo into frustration and Shizuo gives him a taste of his own medicine.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AmberleDb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberleDb/gifts).



“Come _on_ , Shizu-chan,” Izaya drawls, letting the syllables pull into a deliberate taunt in the back of his throat as he arches his shoulders back like he’s trying to touch his shoulderblades against each other. “Can’t you make the knots any tighter than that?”

“Shut up,” Shizuo says, sounding as distracted as he did the first two times he gave Izaya the same order. “It’ll bruise if I make them any tighter.”

Izaya rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, making the expression the more dramatic to make up for the fact there’s no one to see him give it. “There was a time when you didn’t care about a few bruises,” he reminds Shizuo. “You were _responsible_ for most of my injuries back then.”

“Yeah,” Shizuo growls, his voice dipping into that edge it always takes on when he’s teetering on the shadows of unhappiness. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“You’re welcome,” Izaya says. If he cranes his head over his shoulder he can just make out Shizuo kneeling on the bed behind him, his head ducked down over the binding he’s pulling tight to hold Izaya’s wrists at the small of his back; Izaya flexes his arms against the friction of the rope pressing against his skin, testing the tension of the bonds as he frowns consideration at the restraints. “Are you really trying to tell me you don’t miss that?”

“I don’t,” Shizuo says. He braces the ends of the rope in one hand so he can reach up and pin Izaya’s wrists together with the other; even pushing with his full strength, Izaya doesn’t get so much as an inch of movement against the force of Shizuo’s hold. “I didn’t like it. I don’t like hurting you.”

“Maybe _I_ like you hurting me,” Izaya suggests, but Shizuo doesn’t respond to that; he just pulls the rope around into another loop, this one fitting into the gap Izaya’s tugging has left between his wrists. Izaya huffs frustration and lifts his head to frown at the bedroom door instead of over his shoulder at Shizuo. “Honestly, Shizu-chan, I’m disappointed. I signed up for angry hatesex, not this tender romantic bullshit you’re so fond of.”

“You don’t seem to mind all that much,” Shizuo tells him with that same infuriating calm on his voice. Izaya wonders what he’s done to so completely lose his ability to get under the other’s skin. “It’s been _years_ , Izaya, if you were all that frustrated you would have left before now.”

“Maybe I just felt too sorry for you to leave you to your own devices,” Izaya tries. “Now that you know what it’s like to get laid regularly, I can’t abandon you to lonely fantasizing about your worst enemy like you used to.”

“I should never have told you that,” Shizuo sighs. “You’re never going to let it go, are you?”

“I never let anything go, Shizu-chan,” Izaya informs him. “I’m storing up all your weak points to launch an all-out attack someday. Doesn’t that worry you?” He tries the restraints again, more for the show of the effort than out of any real expectation of sliding his hands free. “Shouldn’t you make sure I’m well and truly under control before I take advantage of your vulnerabilities?”

“I’ll take my chances.” Shizuo _still_ doesn’t sound upset; if anything his voice is taut around the purr of a laugh, like he’s fighting back amusement hovering just below the range of audibility. “I think I can take you on, if it comes to it.”

“Your self-confidence is inspiring,” Izaya deadpans. Behind him Shizuo is pulling the ropes close around themselves and winding them into a knot between the angle of Izaya’s wrists; Izaya shifts his weight forward against his knees, frowning into frustration as Shizuo ties off the rope and slides back and away over the sheets. “Really, I’m in awe of you.”

“Good to hear,” Shizuo tells him. “That’s very flattering.” He still sounds amused; when he slides off the edge of the bed to come around to stand in front of Izaya there’s a smile threatening the corner of his mouth to match the strain on his voice, his repressed laughter is visible in his expression. It makes Izaya frown harder, as if he can undo Shizuo’s entertainment via a direct application of his own frustration.

“Maybe I _will_ leave you,” he says, offering the threat with as much feigned sincerity as he can muster. “I’ll find myself a real monster who can satisfy me properly.”

“No you won’t,” Shizuo says. He reaches out to push at Izaya’s shoulder; Izaya leans back, his weight shifting in obedience to the other’s force until his balance wobbles and starts to give. He pulls hard at the rope binding his wrists together, reflex struggling to break free so he can catch himself from a fall, but Shizuo just closes his hold around Izaya’s shoulder and braces him to lower him with agonizing gentleness back to the sheets underneath him. “You used to be a better liar.”

Izaya presses his lips together, feels his cheeks heating into a flush of embarrassment. “Shut up,” he says, and frees a leg from under him so he can swing a kick towards Shizuo’s chest. Shizuo doesn’t even hesitate; he just catches his hold around the other’s ankle, stalling the attempted blow half-formed before it ever touches him. “Maybe this is all just a plot to get you to let your guard down so one night I can finally kill you like I always said I would.”

“Uh huh,” Shizuo says, sounding so entirely unconvinced Izaya’s cheeks flame hotter. “Sure.” He pushes Izaya’s leg back down to the bed and leans forward, catching a hand at the other’s hip to hold him down while he reaches for the button holding Izaya’s jeans on. “I’m going to take your pants off for you.”

“Fuck you,” Izaya says, feeling his protest gain traction in his throat even as Shizuo’s fingers work open the front of his pants and draw the zipper down to loosen the press of the fabric against his hips. “Fuck you, Shizu-chan, I’m going to make you regret underestimating me.” His jeans fall open; Shizuo’s grip against his hip eases and slides up so the other can fit his fingers in under the weight of the denim and the elastic waistband of Izaya’s briefs at once. Izaya’s skin prickles with the sensation, as if it’s shivering through ticklishness from friction too light to even merit the response, and he’s huffing an exhale before Shizuo has yet drawn the weight of his clothes down to bare his skin for the other’s sight.

“I don’t underestimate you,” Shizuo says, in complete contradiction of the way his fingertips are skimming gentle along the sides of Izaya’s thighs as he pulls the other’s clothes off. “I’m sure you could take me on any time you wanted if you felt like it.”

“I could,” Izaya snaps. “I’ll take you on right here if you don’t hurry up.”

“Huh,” Shizuo says. He’s sliding away towards the end of the bed as he pulls Izaya’s jeans off him with frustrating slowness; Izaya twists his foot against the weight of the fabric in an attempt to pull his leg free of the cloth, but Shizuo’s grip is still bracing the denim taut against the line of his foot and he can’t manage to shake himself free. Shizuo pauses in his movement, with his hands closed around Izaya’s jeans tangled around his ankles and the other spread out in front of him, and when he lifts his head it’s deliberate, with the slow grace of intention behind the shift of his attention up the whole of Izaya’s body. Izaya can watch Shizuo’s focus slide up the inside of his leg, tracing out over the curve of his thigh and up to the weight of his balls between his legs; there’s a rush of heat in Izaya’s veins, a shiver of desire that runs up his spine and twitches his cock half-hard where it’s lying against his leg. His cheeks darken, his mouth tenses on a frown, but Shizuo is still staring at him, his attention winding up, now, over the flat of Izaya’s stomach and the shift of breathing in his chest to the angle of his shoulders, where his collarbones are pressing close against the skin from the way Izaya’s hands are bound behind him. Izaya can see Shizuo’s lips part, can see the dip of the other’s lashes as if he’s considering something remarkable, or as if he’s looking at a particularly exquisite meal, and his whole body shudders with the rush of heat that goes through him, as if his adrenaline is trying to flood his veins to match the dark attention in Shizuo’s eyes.

Shizuo licks his lips, pausing long over the motion before he raises his gaze to meet Izaya’s. Izaya can feel the color staining his cheeks to crimson, can feel the heat burning just under the surface of his skin; he’s not sure if he’s more angry or aroused. He’s not sure the distinction between the two makes a difference.

“You’ll take me on right now,” Shizuo repeats back, and he pulls the denim off Izaya’s feet, dropping the clothing to the ground to be entirely ignored as he reaches to replace the weight of the jeans at Izaya’s knee with the press of his palm. “With your hands tied behind your back?”

“They won’t be for long,” Izaya scoffs, offering aggression over his tongue as his cock stirs to the weight of Shizuo’s hand, as his spine prickles in anticipation of that touch drifting down against the inside of his thigh, or out to press under the angle of his knee and spread his legs open for Shizuo’s use. “You’re so worried about bruising me you left them too loose to do their job. I’ll be out of them in five minutes.”

“Okay,” Shizuo says. He looks down to his hand at Izaya’s knee; Izaya can feel his whole body tense in anticipation of movement, of friction, of the heat of Shizuo’s fingers mapping out over the expanse of his skin laid out for the other’s appreciation. But Shizuo just tightens his grip, settling his palm in over the curve of Izaya’s kneecap under his palm, and when he moves it’s to lean in over Izaya on the bed, to bring a knee up to press against the sheets and steady himself as he tips forward to cast the other in the shadow of his body. “Just let me know when you’re free.”

Izaya hisses incoherent frustration at Shizuo’s tone, at the offhand amusement so audible under the other’s voice. “ _Fine_ ,” he says, and turns his head away as Shizuo leans in as if to press a kiss to his mouth. “You’d better be ready.”

“Sure,” Shizuo says, and Izaya can hear the smile on the other’s voice as he satisfies himself with kissing at Izaya’s jaw instead of his lips. Izaya hisses at the contact, clenching his jaw tighter like he’s trying to shake off the warmth of Shizuo’s mouth, but Shizuo just huffs an exhale frustratingly close to a laugh and moves down by an inch, weighting a line of kisses along Izaya’s jaw and back against the soft skin just under the other’s ear. Izaya’s breathing rushes out of him at the contact, his spine arching in involuntary response to the friction against such sensitive skin, and Shizuo hums in the back of his throat and kisses against him again.

“You have such beautiful skin,” he murmurs, his voice pitched low in consideration of how close to Izaya’s ear his lips are. There’s a strange weight under his voice, a resonance that steals Izaya’s breath as quickly as he fills his lungs; for a moment he forgets to pull at the bindings holding his wrists together and lets the strain in his arms ease for a heartbeat’s worth of appreciation instead. “I’ve always thought so, you know.”

“Shut up,” Izaya manages, feeling his throat tense and strain around the words until it’s hard to force them out and harder to hear the outline of his own voice under them. “You are such a liar.”

“I’m not.” Shizuo presses his mouth under Izaya’s ear again, lingering this time until Izaya can feel the warm wet of the other’s mouth like it’s soaking into his skin, spilling into his veins to leave him shuddering with strange heat that saps the edge from his anger and leaves him warm and pliant over the sheets. “I thought so the first time I met you.” He shifts down by a half-inch, marking a path along the curve of Izaya’s throat; Izaya’s head angles to the side of its own accord, making a suggestion of his neck as his attention flickers away from the tension of the rope around his wrists to cling to the weight of Shizuo’s mouth pressing kisses against him. “I didn’t know that you’d be so sensitive to touch, though.”

“I hate you,” Izaya says to the bedroom wall, without lifting his head to shove Shizuo away from the heat the other is trailing against the line of his neck. “I ask you to tie me up and push me around, and you give me compliments instead?”

“You don’t seem like you’re minding.” Shizuo’s hand lifts from Izaya’s hip, his fingertips skimming with breathless lightness up the flat of the other’s stomach and over the shift of his ribs under his skin; Izaya hisses an inhale, his spine arching up to meet the ghosting gentleness of Shizuo’s fingers dragging over him. He can feel his cock flushing harder without even being touched, can feel his nipples tightening in expectation of Shizuo’s fingertips weighting against them. Shizuo lifts his mouth from Izaya’s shoulder, turns his head down to watch the path of his fingertips; his hair falls against the other’s neck, the strands catching ticklish sensation against the skin. His fingers pull up over Izaya’s chest, trailing in a wide arc around the other’s nipples without drawing close enough for Izaya to get even a shiver of anticipation from the contact. “Seems like you’re having a pretty good time, actually.”

“Fuck you,” Izaya says, and he does turn his head then, angling his chin down so he can see Shizuo’s fingers trailing just over the flushed heat of his skin. “Are you trying to embarrass me, is that your master plan of attack?”

“I thought I was waiting for you to get your hands free.” Shizuo lifts his head to fix Izaya with the full dark of his stare. “How is that going?”

Izaya bares his teeth at Shizuo in what might feasibly be considered a smile by a very generous observer. “Fine. I can be free at a moment’s notice, now.” In actual fact the knots hold as tight as when he first pulled at them -- he’s been straining for the loose ends he knows must be there but can’t find for the last few minutes -- but he’s not about to admit that to Shizuo. “I thought I’d give you a chance to bore me with your technique before I took control to show you what I actually want.”

Shizuo’s lashes dip over his gaze, a flicker of reaction too shadowed for Izaya to get a clear read on it. “Yeah,” he says, “you seem really bored.” He shifts back over his knees, sliding backwards over the bed by a few inches as he ducks his head to look down at the curve of Izaya’s chest under him rather than the other’s face. “You don’t mind if I just amuse myself for a while then, I guess.”

“What?” Izaya says, and then Shizuo ducks down over his chest to breathe out warm over his skin and his head tips back, his fingers curling into involuntary fists against the weight of the rope still pinning his arms together at the small of his back. “ _Fuck_ me.”

“Just hold still,” Shizuo suggests, his voice dropping down into that strange low weight again, and his fingers are sliding back down, closing around Izaya’s hip and bearing down to keep the other against the sheets while he lowers his mouth to the flushed skin of Izaya’s chest. His lips are warm, they press gentle friction just over the thud of Izaya’s heart against his ribs, and Izaya’s breathing is coming faster in spite of all his attempts to pretend calm, his heartrate is spiking high on the force of the adrenaline flooding his veins. Shizuo opens his mouth against Izaya’s chest, parting his lips to exhale humid heat against the other’s skin, and Izaya’s lungs empty themselves into a shuddering low note, desire given form in his throat as much as it is aching in his untouched cock. His back is flexing, his body trying to press itself closer to Shizuo’s mouth; and Shizuo is sliding sideways, is trailing out a path across Izaya’s skin as he touches his tongue to the other’s chest, as he flicks experimental interest against the taste of the other’s body under him. Izaya’s fingernails are digging into his palms, his legs are shaking with the attempt to curve himself up in spite of Shizuo’s grip at his hip, and Shizuo is drawing across his skin, wandering closer to the hard point of his nipple with every idle slick of his tongue. Izaya can feel anticipation running through the whole of his body, can feel every muscle in him flexing in a futile attempt to urge Shizuo’s mouth, Shizuo’s tongue, Shizuo’s teeth down against those sensitive nerve endings; and then Shizuo draws away, pulling back from Izaya’s skin just shy of contact, and Izaya gasps incoherent outrage as his whole body falls slack and trembling against the sheets under him.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Shizuo says, the words coming out as a statement instead of a question, and Izaya doesn’t have to look up to the other’s face to hear the shadow of near-threat on his voice. Shizuo is watching Izaya’s face, his own expression distant and unreadable; Izaya can’t get any traction on the dark behind the other’s eyes, can’t make any sense out of the flat neutrality of the other’s mouth. “I’ll just occupy myself while you’re getting free of the rope, it’ll only be a few minutes.”

“I hate you,” Izaya repeats, hissing over the words with all the frustration he can muster. “I’m going to get free and I’m going to _kill_ you.”

“Sure you are,” Shizuo says, sounding nothing like convinced, and he’s looking away from the glare Izaya is trying to level on him and ducking his head back down to press his lips to Izaya’s stomach instead of his chest. Izaya shudders under the friction, his body quivering in a complete giveaway for the rush of heat that swamps him, but Shizuo doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even pull away from the flex of taut skin under his lips. He’s pressing kisses against Izaya instead, leaving the damp of his mouth clinging to the other’s skin as he works his way down over the other’s navel, and Izaya is staring at the ceiling, pressing his lips together in a desperate and ultimately futile attempt to stifle the whimpering tremors that try to break free of his throat with every motion of Shizuo’s lips against him. Shizuo’s hair is falling forward around his features, his face is so near Izaya can feel the drag of the other’s lashes pulling across his skin when he blinks, and he’s working down with maddening slowness, lingering for long seconds over each span of skin like he’s trying to memorize the texture of Izaya’s body against his lips. He’s moving lower, Izaya can feel every shift of Shizuo’s mouth on him like another painful step forward in a marathon of distance; but he’s almost expecting it, this time, when Shizuo sighs an exhale over his skin and draws back just shy of contact with the dark-flushed head of Izaya’s cock. Izaya hisses frustrated incoherence, his hips bucking up in desperate pursuit of Shizuo’s mouth, of Shizuo’s chin, of even the drag of Shizuo’s shirt against the swollen-sensitive heat of his cock; but Shizuo’s fingers tighten on his hip, the other’s grip working with casual ease to pin Izaya where he is, and Izaya is forced to subside with a groan of frustration, collapsing back to the bed over the bonds still pinning his hands helplessly against his back.

“You know,” Shizuo says, watching Izaya with his face a picture of calm, with his whole expression so entirely restrained that Izaya wishes he could punch him just for the satisfaction of breaking through the other’s composure. “I love all of you, but there’s one part of your body that always held my attention most.”

Izaya glares at him. “If you don’t say my cock I’m--”

“Your legs,” Shizuo says, talking right over Izaya’s unformed threat, and Izaya tips his head back to groan protest at the ceiling as Shizuo slides back and off the end of the bed. His knees hit the floor, his position steadying out between the open angle of Izaya’s legs, and Izaya wants to kick him but Shizuo’s hand is sliding from his hip down over the line of his thigh, Shizuo’s fingers are cradling the angle of his knee, and Izaya is too busy trembling with the electricity of the other’s fingers dragging across his skin to manage the effort of actually trying to kick himself free of Shizuo’s hold.

“You have amazing legs,” Shizuo is saying, his gaze wandering against the inside line of Izaya’s thigh like he’s looking at some work of art, like he’s appreciating some breathtaking view. Izaya has to crane his neck to see the other kneeling between his legs; but he doesn’t need to see at all to feel the way Shizuo’s fingers are sliding down from his knee along his shin, smoothing against the fine dark hair there until he can curl his grip almost completely around Izaya’s ankle. “Your feet are nice too.”

“My feet,” Izaya repeats, trying to gain some measure of traction on the situation and feeling his heart pounding too hard to grant him the ability to do so. “I didn’t know you had that particular fetish, Shizu-chan, you should have said something sooner.”

Shizuo shakes his head without looking up, without so much as a flicker of self-consciousness over his features. “I don’t,” he says. His hand slides along Izaya’s ankle, weighting in close against the knob of bone before drawing down to the arch of the other’s foot. “It’s not a fetish, I just like yours.” His thumb digs in, the pressure of his touch bearing down against the faint, semi-permanent ache that lingers across the curve of Izaya’s foot, and Izaya’s breath rushes out of him in an exhale hot enough to more than merit the title of a moan. His arms flex through reflexive motion to strain for freedom from the bindings around his wrists, and against his foot Shizuo’s thumb slides higher, digging in against tendons that ache under the unexpected pressure with a dull burn so deep Izaya can feel it like heat flooding directly into his veins.

“Oh,” Izaya gasps, his throat opening up on the rush of sensation along his spine. “ _Fuck_.”

“You sound good like that,” Shizuo tells him, murmuring the words against Izaya’s calf, and he ducks in closer to drop a kiss against the inside of the other’s ankle, just over the knob of bone pressing taut under the skin. Izaya flinches, his body jerking with the ticklish contact, but Shizuo is already moving up higher, dropping kisses at intervals of inches against the other’s calf. His hold is still bracing at Izaya’s foot, his fingers still pinning the other’s leg to stillness as he works his way up; Izaya can feel the tiny, helpless tremors running along his leg stall out to immobility against that grip as casual as it is unbreakable.

“I like having you still like this,” Shizuo hums against the inside of Izaya’s thigh, his lips dragging over the words as he offers them. Izaya can feel the vibration of the sound run across his skin, can feel it spark up his leg to twitch heat against his cock at his stomach. “It’s easier to take my time.”

“How much time do you _want_?” Izaya snaps. He tips his knees wider, trying to make an invitation of the angle of his legs, but Shizuo just keeps kissing against his thigh, breathing warmth over his skin that hovers just at the edge of suggestive without quite spilling over. “Are you going to fuck me at all, or are you just going to touch me?” He means the phrasing to be dismissive, means to spin the edge of the words into the dragging weight of mockery; but Shizuo chooses that moment to slide his hand up against Izaya’s calf, to press his fingertips in against the sensitive underside of the other’s knee, and Izaya loses his breath to a whimper of reaction halfway through his sentence.

“I’m just appreciating the view,” Shizuo tells him, and then he’s pulling away again, drawing his touch back and leaning over his knees so he can push to his feet instead. Izaya is left trembling over the bed, feeling like he’s caught at a point between aroused and frustrated as the heat of Shizuo’s touch fades from his skin. Shizuo looks down at his shirtfront and begins unfastening the buttons lining the pristine white of the fabric, and Izaya hisses and tries to arch himself to a better angle of traction against the bed.

“Just pull it off,” he suggests. “It’ll be faster, won’t it?”

“There’s no hurry,” Shizuo says without looking up from the glacially slow process he’s making down the front of his shirt. “You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

“Fuck _you_ ,” Izaya snaps. “You’re not as calm as you’re pretending to be.” Shizuo’s pants are visibly strained around the pressure of his cock inside them; Izaya drops his attention to the dark instead and stretches out a foot over the distance between them. It’s almost too far to reach; he can only manage it by flexing his whole leg into the effort, and even then all he can do is to skim the very tips of his toes against the fabric. “How long have you been depriving yourself, Shizu-chan?” He shifts against the bed, struggling for an extra inch of movement; it’s an awkward attempt, and largely ineffective, but when he stretches out again he can press the ball of his foot against Shizuo’s slacks, can gain some measure of traction against the heat of the other’s cock inside his clothes. “You don’t have to wait, you know.” Izaya lowers his lashes, tips his chin down into the best attempt at seduction he can manage. “You could take me right now if you wanted.”

Shizuo drops a hand from his shirt to catch at Izaya’s ankle, tightening his fingers against the other’s skin for a moment while he pushes Izaya’s foot away from the front of his slacks. “I know,” he says, with absolutely maddening calm. “It’ll be better this way.”

Izaya’s temper flares with the weight of frustration, the implicit rejection of Shizuo’s movement uncurling into flame all through him. “Are you that bored with me?” he demands, kicking to knock his leg free of Shizuo’s hold with more desperation than conscious thought. “There was a time you couldn’t keep your hands off me, couldn’t even be bothered to wait until we got home before you had your dick up my ass. I didn’t realize your interest had waned so much.”

Shizuo’s hand lands at Izaya’s hip, his fingers clenching so hard Izaya can feel the pressure aching up his spine, can feel the weight of the other’s touch with all the breathless heat of the force he’s been so desperate to achieve. He gasps an inhale, his lungs flexing hard over the victory of Shizuo’s fingers digging in with such strength; but the other’s hold stalls at the edge of pressure, hovering against the threshold of pain without quite crossing over.

“ _Bored_ ,” Shizuo growls, his voice dipping down to the old familiar resonance of heat and frustration Izaya remembers from the years before, when all it took was a smirk and a tilt of his head to bring Shizuo into a desperate chase to pin him back against the nearest available surface. His hand at Izaya’s hip shifts, pulling enough to tilt the other’s body up and halfway off the bed. “I’m not bored.” He pushes sideways, the force utterly irresistible to Izaya sprawling across the mattress; Izaya’s turning before he has any chance to stop himself, his body shifting over the sheets as Shizuo flips him to lie face-down over the bed. “You act like if it doesn’t hurt you can’t feel it.”

“I _don’t_ \--” Izaya starts, and then Shizuo’s fingers are sliding across his hip, freeing the angle of bone under the other’s hold to drag up over the dip of Izaya’s back instead, just over the curve of his ass, and every thought in Izaya’s head evaporates into a gusting exhale of ticklish reaction. His spine curves, his breath rushes out of him, and Shizuo’s hand is sliding to fit just against the base of his spine, the other’s fingers spreading wide to weight against his back. His hold is steady, gentle and wholly unbreakable, until Izaya knows even as he tries to wiggle free that his attempt is useless.

“Stop trying to make everything a fight,” Shizuo tells him. The hand at Izaya’s back shifts as the other leans in over him; the open edges of his shirt catch at Izaya’s bound wrists, the fabric spilling over the weight of the rope holding the other so unshakably still. Izaya fumbles for a hold, trying to make a fist of the fabric to drag Shizuo in closer to him, but Shizuo is leaning in already, his shadow casting over Izaya lying across the bed as he ducks in nearer to kiss between the angle of the other’s shoulderblades. Izaya shudders with the contact, his body prickling with self-awareness, and Shizuo turns his head to press in closer, opens his mouth wider to catch his teeth at the knob at the top of Izaya’s spine. There’s no pain behind the contact, not enough force to even drag the threat of friction against the gentle bite; there’s just the wet of his mouth, the angle of his teeth settling at Izaya’s skin like he’s laying claim to the other’s body, like he’s setting his mark on Izaya’s very existence. Izaya shudders an exhale, feels his whole body going slack in a moment of involuntary, helpless surrender, and against his skin Shizuo’s hand shifts, dragging down over the smooth curve of Izaya’s ass to weight the other down with the same casual force he used in turning him over onto the sheets.

“Just relax,” Shizuo suggests, spilling the words against the fall of Izaya’s hair, and he’s moving down the other’s body, punctuating the action with the warmth of kisses against each of the vertebrae of Izaya’s spine. His mouth is soft, the contact glancing; Izaya shudders like he’s being electrified with each heartbeat of friction. “I just want to appreciate you.”

Izaya huffs something that’s intended as scorn against the sheets under him. “Appreciate me,” he repeats, turning his head to the side so the words are clear for Shizuo’s hearing. “It’s just me, there’s nothing about that worth any particular attention.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Shizuo tells him. His fingers slide down by inches, pressing down over sensitive skin as his touch moves; Izaya’s legs flex reflexively against the bed, his body trying to arch up to meet Shizuo’s touch as it descends. “I’m telling you what _I_ want to do. And since you’re tied up--” as his fingertips skim over Izaya’s entrance, as Izaya’s whole body seizes tight for a moment of helpless want, “--we’ll be doing what I want for a while.”

“Fuck,” Izaya gasps against the sheets, and then, with more coherency: “Fuck you, Shizu-chan.”

“Not yet,” Shizuo tells him, and he slides down farther, fitting himself between the angle of Izaya’s knees as he ducks over the other’s arms, as he presses his mouth against the inside line of Izaya’s bound wrists. Izaya jerks with the contact, his skin tingling like it’s gone hyper-sensitive from the lack of anything more aggressive, and against him Shizuo’s fingers are pressing gentle heat against his entrance, Shizuo’s touch is tracing against his rim like he’s trying to memorize the shape of it. “Soon.”

“ _How_ soon?” Izaya asks, his heart pounding in his chest and his hands trembling as Shizuo kisses against his wrists, lingering long over the tension of the ropes binding his hands behind him before dropping to breathe out against the curled cup the position makes of Izaya’s palms. “I’ve been waiting for _ages_ , when are you going to _touch_ me?”

“I am touching you,” Shizuo says with infuriating rationality. His thumb slides down to take the place of his fingertips; Izaya can feel the blunt width of it pressing against him, can feel his whole body aching with desire for the stretch of it, with some desperate hope that Shizuo will flex his hand and push into him just like this, just as they are, just for the satisfaction of the pressure forcing him open around it. “What do you want me to do to you?”

“You _know_ what I want,” Izaya spits, trying to blink his hair away from his face so he can glare over his shoulder at Shizuo still lingering over his bound hands, still too busy exploring Izaya’s skin to actually work him open. “I didn’t figure you for such a _tease_.”

“You wanted me to tie you up,” Shizuo reminds him, still with that same frustrating calm. “You didn’t say anything about what happened after that.”

“I hate you,” Izaya says. “I hate you, Shizu-chan, I hate you _so_ much.”

“Do you?” Shizuo says. His hand slides away, his fingertips draw back from Izaya’s skin; Izaya can feel his whole chest tighten, can feel his fingers curl on sudden panic as Shizuo’s touch disappears from his skin.

“No,” he says, blurting the negation fast as Shizuo rocks back and away from him, as the other pulls away too far for Izaya’s frantic attempts to grab at his shirt to catch him. “No, no, I don’t hate you, please come back, don’t go.”

“I’m not going,” Shizuo says. There’s a faint sound of suction, the drag of damp lips over warm skin, and then that touch comes back, a hand catching to brace at Izaya’s hip and hold him down to the bed. Izaya sucks in a breath, his stomach dropping in the first surge of anticipation, and then Shizuo’s fingers are back at his entrance, the damp from his lips clinging to his skin and sparking expectation all up Izaya’s spine. “I’m still here” and he’s pushing, and Izaya’s surrendering, his whole body lighting up on the first groan of satisfied friction as Shizuo’s finger slides into him. Izaya can feel the burn as the other moves, can feel the ache as the minimal lubrication catches and fails, but he doesn’t care, it’s all satisfaction, it’s all the resonance of relief rushing up his spine and stealing his breathing.

“Oh,” he’s gasping, his fingers flexing at his back, his spine arching him down against the bed, “ _yes_ , fuck, Shizu-chan, oh _god_ ” and Shizuo is pushing in deeper, farther, urging his touch as far as it can go while Izaya shudders and surrenders to the pressure forcing him open. He can feel Shizuo inside him, can feel the drag of the other’s touch burning at the edge of too-much the farther the other goes, and he thinks he’s never been so satisfied just by the stretch of a finger working him open. “Don’t stop, _fuck_.”

“Like that?” Shizuo asks, as if he needs the confirmation, as if there’s any doubt left to whether Izaya wants this from the way his body is trembling to the touch of the other’s hand. His forward movement stalls, his thumb bracing against Izaya’s skin; Izaya can feel the full length of Shizuo’s finger inside him, can feel the pressure holding him open against the involuntary flexing of his body around the resistance. It burns, it aches, it’s a dull stretch that he wants deeper, harder, wider, _more_ in every dimension and every facet of experience. He takes a breath, trying to brace himself for the drag of Shizuo pulling back out for another thrust; but Shizuo doesn’t pull away, doesn’t draw his spit-slick touch back out and doesn’t shift his hand inside Izaya’s body. He lets his hold at the other’s hip go instead, reaching to replace the weight with a palm against the dip of Izaya’s back, just over the curve of the other’s hips down to his ass; Izaya can feel the pressure of Shizuo’s hand bearing down on him, can feel the deliberate stability of it shudder anticipation out into his veins for whatever is coming next. Shizuo’s fingers brace against him, Shizuo’s palm weights him flush to the bed; and inside him Shizuo’s touch shifts as the other flexes his hand to press the tip of his finger against Izaya’s inner walls. Izaya’s eyes go wide, his voice breaks over a shuddering rush of almost-panicked heat; and inside him Shizuo’s touch bears down against his prostate, and at his stomach Izaya’s cock jerks, in his chest his lungs flex on a groan of helpless heat.

“Like this,” Shizuo says, and he’s pressing harder, he’s rubbing in tiny circles of movement that are jolting all the way up Izaya’s spine and arching his shoulders like he’s trying to get them to meet in the center of his back. His spine is arching, his hands are flexing, his knees are digging in against the bed; he’d be writhing, he’s sure, except that Shizuo’s hand at the base of his spine is bracing him in place, holding him still and steady for the grinding pressure of the other’s touch against him. Izaya’s panting, he’s shaking, he can’t catch his breath and he can’t stop shuddering; every movement of Shizuo’s finger inside him sends convulsive jolts of friction through his body, he can feel everything in him straining tighter like it’s reaching for some impossible goal, like it’s trying to lay claim to the dull stretch of heat collecting low in his stomach. He’s hard against the sheets, the head of his cock is wet against his stomach, but he can’t spare attention for it; everything in him is focused on Shizuo stroking inside him, on the pressure of Shizuo’s fingertip bearing down against him.

“Fuck,” he’s gasping, his voice breaking as his vision starts to haze, as his breathing catches onto the edge of anticipation. “Shizu-chan, please, don’t, I’m--” and Shizuo’s touch goes still, the dragging friction of his fingertip stalling short of the relief Izaya can feel building in his stomach, and Izaya makes a sound of such frustration he doesn’t recognize his own voice for the strain on it. “God _damn_ you!”

“Yeah,” Shizuo says, “I know.” He lifts his hand from Izaya’s hips, shifting his weight back over his knees instead of leaning in over the other’s body; Izaya can feel the pressure inside him shift with the other’s movement, can feel the prickle of almost-enough as Shizuo’s finger presses against him reflexively while the other leans forward to reach for the head of the bed. Izaya slides his knees over the sheets, trying to get some kind of traction either to push himself back against Shizuo’s finger or to rock himself forward against the sheets under him; but Shizuo’s knees are still between his, the other’s body is still holding Izaya’s splayed open across the bed, and with his hands bound behind him Izaya can’t find his balance enough to effect any real movement.

“I hate you,” Izaya says again, biting off the words with far more force than he gave them before. “I fucking _hate_ you, Shizu-chan, I regret ever sleeping with you, you can’t _do_ this to me.”

“Can’t I?” Shizuo asks, with that same calm, even tone. He’s straightening again; there’s the sound of plastic clicking on itself, a lid coming open under the press of Shizuo’s thumb. “You’re going to stop me, then?”

“Yes,” Izaya says. There’s a spill of liquid over his skin, a splash of cool against the flushed heat of his entrance; he can feel himself twitch with the contact, clenching helplessly against the promise that comes with the lubrication sliding over his skin. “ _Oh_ , fuck, _Shizu-chan_.”

“You want me to stop?” Shizuo draws his touch back slow, as gently as he first pressed in; the drag is a little easier on the way out, something of a relief against the ache inside Izaya’s body, but his breathing spills out of him into a whimper that sounds alarmingly close to pleading even as it breaks from his lips. He turns his head down against the sheets, pressing his mouth close against the soft under him like it can perhaps stifle the heat in the throat, and against his skin slick fingers draw up, Shizuo’s skin dragging through the lubrication spilling across Izaya’s entrance with agonizingly drawn-out promise. “Izaya?”

“Ah,” Izaya says against the sheets. His legs are trembling, his thigh shaking with the need for Shizuo’s hands on him, Shizuo’s touch inside him, Shizuo’s knees against his and Shizuo’s hands at his hips and Shizuo’s cock-- “ _No_ , I don’t want you to stop.”

“What do you want me to do?” Shizuo asks. He’s trailing over Izaya’s entrance, his touch pressing close to the other like a flirtation before he pulls away to slide down farther, to weight his fingertips just behind the heat of the other’s balls instead. Izaya can feel himself clenching and easing in a desperate rhythm, can feel his body fluttering through spasms of want for Shizuo’s touch. “Tell me.”

“Fuck you,” Izaya says, all but wailing the words against the pillow. “I want you to _touch_ me, you _asshole_.”

“Like this?” Shizuo asks, and his fingers slide up over Izaya’s entrance again, the slick weight of them enough to blow the air from Izaya’s lungs into a moan of embarrassing heat. “Or more?”

“More,” Izaya says against the sheets. “I want you _inside_ me, Shizu-chan.”

“Just one?” Shizuo asks.

Izaya groans. “ _Two_ ,” he says, and turns his head so he can crane his head back around at Shizuo, so his words come clear without any muffling from the blankets in front of him. “I want both your goddamn fingers inside me _now_.”

“Okay,” Shizuo says, and he pushes in just like that, without any additional warning for the movement. Izaya’s eyes go wide, his breath spills out of him in a rush, but he’s not paying any attention to the desperate flex of empty lungs; he’s too busy lighting up around the friction of Shizuo’s touch, too busy arching against the straining slick of Shizuo’s fingers thrusting deep into him on that first sudden movement.

“ _Oh_ ,” he gasps, and his lashes are fluttering, his mouth is open, he can feel his throat humming with sound and he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care that Shizuo is watching him and he doesn’t care that his expression must be knocked wide-open on heat, all he cares about is the slippery drag of Shizuo’s fingers working him open through a long-slow drag of overwhelming sensation. “Oh _god_ , oh _fuck_ , Shizu-chan _yes_ please, like that, _please_.”

“What do you want?” Shizuo asks again. He’s not holding Izaya steady, not pinning the other down to the bed; he’s just moving his hand, pumping his fingers into the other in a slow rhythm that makes Izaya choke for air, that makes his toes curl as if for traction he can’t get. “Izaya, tell me.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Izaya says immediately. If he arches his back and digs his knees in against the sheets under him he can manage some marginal movement, can pull his body up and back to fuck himself against the steady press of Shizuo’s fingers. His legs are shaking with the effort, he can feel the strain building across his shoulders, but he ignores the physical protests his body is offering, they’re inconsequential compared to that force stretching him open. “I want to feel your dick in me, Shizu-chan.”

“Mm.” Shizuo’s fingers curl, tensing inside Izaya’s body, and all the desperate strain in Izaya’s limbs collapses on itself to drop him shuddering boneless over the sheets instead in involuntary capitulation to the surge of heat that runs through him. “Are you going to ask nicely?”

“Oh,” Izaya says. “Oh _fuck_ you, Shizu--” and Shizuo’s fingers flex inside him, and his head angles back, all the air in his lungs spilling out of him in a groan that takes all his resistance with it. “ _Fuck. Please_.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me,” Izaya gasps, his voice breaking over the plea and his head too fogged with the strain of desire for him to bother caring. “Please, Shizuo, please, I want you inside me, I want you to touch me, I want to come around your cock, Shizuo, _please_ , please, I _need_ you.”

Shizuo makes a sound over Izaya, a rush of air like an exhale enough to empty every corner of his lungs at once. “Izaya,” he breathes, turning the other’s name into something low and hot and dark, and then his fingers are sliding back and Izaya chokes over an inhale, feels his throat constricting as if on a sob. There’s sound from behind him, the rustle of fabric and the sleek metal sound of a zipper coming down, but Izaya’s just gasping for air, fighting to collect himself around the promise of _soon_ he can hear in each of Shizuo’s movements, that he can feel telegraphed to him through the shift of the other’s knees against the bed.

“Okay,” Shizuo says, and his hand is coming back to Izaya’s hip, his fingers are spreading to curl around the other and hold him steady. Izaya’s breath catches, his legs flex, and against him there’s the slick drag of heavy-hot friction as the head of Shizuo’s cock bumps against him. Shizuo’s fingers at his hip tighten, Izaya gasps a lungful of air, and as Shizuo rocks forward to thrust into him he shuts his eyes and lets his throat tighten on a moan of relief. Shizuo’s cock is stretching him wide around its width, it’s pressing deeper into him than the other’s fingers could reach, and Izaya is held still against it, Shizuo’s grip at his hip more than enough to brace him in place against the slick press of friction as the other rocks into him.

“More,” Izaya says, the word unthought and involuntary; and then, again, as he hears the echo of his own voice in his ears, “Please,” with an arch of his spine to punctuate, with his fingers curling in on themselves to offer futile resistance to the bonds holding his wrists together. “Shizu-chan, _touch_ me, _please_.”

“God,” Shizuo gasps over him, his voice breaking open on the sound. “I know” and he’s moving, he’s reaching around to slide his hand under Izaya’s waist, to press his fingers close against the heat of the other’s body. Izaya shudders with the friction, with the drag of sensation over nerve endings aching with desperate want, but Shizuo’s hand is sliding up without hesitation, dragging over the rhythm of his breathing and up to brush over the hard heat of his nipple. Izaya jerks with the sensation, groaning far back in his throat at the starburst of heat that comes with the contact, and Shizuo leans in closer against him, his shirt falling against Izaya’s arm as he catches the hard point between his fingers and tugs gently against it, twisting to spill heat directly into Izaya’s veins. Izaya can feel the ache run through his whole body, from the pressure of Shizuo’s fingers tugging at him straight down to quiver through the length of his cock pinned between his stomach and the bed. Shizuo is pressing nearer, his head dropping forward until his lips are skimming against the flexing tension at Izaya’s shoulder, and still he’s moving, his hips rocking into a steady rhythm as he finds a pace for the driving thrusts he’s taking into Izaya. Every backwards drag pulls lube-gentle friction over Izaya’s entrance, every forward jolt flares a new rush of heat through him as Shizuo’s cock pushes heavy against his inner walls, and Izaya can feel his legs starting to shake, can feel the involuntary tremors of anticipation starting to thrum through his shoulders and his tied-back arms as his cock tenses into almost-there, as his balls draw up tight against his body as if to strain him towards the edge of his orgasm. It’s almost enough, it’s so close, Izaya thinks he’s going to come with every rocking movement of Shizuo fucking into him; but he doesn’t, not quite, he keeps hovering at the edge with Shizuo’s fingers plucking at his nipple and Shizuo’s cock sliding into him and his whole body shaking with the need for more, for a touch, for a breath, for _anything_ to send him over the edge and into relief. Shizuo’s hand slides across his chest, the other’s palm pressing flush against him to flicker sensation along Izaya’s spine as calluses pull over sensitive skin, and Izaya shudders, his head angling back as he gasps a lungful of air in some desperate pursuit of _more_.

“ _Please_ ,” he moans, his voice cracking in the back of his throat, skipping up octaves to shimmering heights in his throat. “ _Shizuo_.”

“You want me to touch you?” Shizuo asks. He’s pressing flush against the whole of Izaya’s back, now, his chest fitting close to the angle of the other’s arms pulled behind him; he’s lying atop Izaya more than bearing his own weight, Izaya can feel the press of the other’s body holding him down to the bed as if to brace him to stillness where he is. Shizuo turns his head, his lips dragging over Izaya’s shoulder to skim the other’s hair; when he huffs an exhale Izaya can feel it ruffle through the dark strands tangled just over his ear. “Like this?” And he lets his hand slide down, away from Izaya’s chest and over the ticklish angle of the other’s ribcage, and Izaya can feel his whole body ripple with the shudder of anticipation that runs through him. Shizuo’s palm drops over the edge of his ribcage, presses in hard against the soft give of Izaya’s stomach like he’s trying to pull the other back closer to him, and Izaya curves into the pull, lets his body fit against Shizuo’s while the other’s fingers spread wide over his skin as if to encompass all of Izaya in the palm of his hand.

“Yes,” Izaya gasps, and he’s closing his fingers on Shizuo’s shirt behind him, he’s making fists of the fabric to brace himself still, Shizuo’s touch is mere inches away from the slick-wet head of his cock. “Yes, Shizuo, please, I want it, I want you, _Shizuo_.”

“Almost,” Shizuo says against his hair, and Izaya almost sobs at the implied refusal under the words, at the rejection modulated into affection by the purr of Shizuo’s voice. Shizuo’s hand pulls him in closer, holds him steady against the speeding movement of the other’s cock thrusting into him, but Izaya barely notices the greater pace; he’s tipping his head down, pressing hard against the sheets in an attempt to see how near Shizuo’s hand is to him. It feels so close, feels impossibly near, like if he can just rock his hips up by a half-inch he can press against the angle of Shizuo’s wrist and can finally find the orgasm Shizuo has been denying him for what feels like hours. He does make the attempt, flexing his legs and bucking himself forward over the tiny range of motion he can manage; but he can’t make contact, all he ends up achieving is drawing a groan of heat from Shizuo’s throat as the other keeps moving into the flex of his body.

“Almost,” Shizuo says again, his voice dropping lower against the inside of his chest, hitting the purring weight that Izaya could identify if he weren’t so entirely caught in his own reactions. “Izaya, just hold on for a second, I’m almost…”

“ _Please_ ,” Izaya gasps. “Shizuo, come on, come _on_ , just _touch_ me, that’s all I need, I can’t--”

“I’m close,” Shizuo pants against his hair, and he is, Izaya can feel the other’s movements over him going jerky with desperation, can feel the strain of Shizuo’s cock going impossibly harder as the other fucks deeper into him. “Just give me--” and then he groans an exhale, the rising tension in his body eases, and Izaya knows what he’s going to say in the moment before Shizuo gasps “Oh fuck, Izaya, I’m gonna come” against the soft span of skin just below his ear.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Izaya blurts. “ _Shizu_ \--” but he doesn’t need to finish the sentence, doesn’t need to offer any further desperate pleas, because Shizuo’s hand is dragging down his stomach, Shizuo’s fingers are sliding against him, and Izaya just has time to process the fit of Shizuo’s palm curling close around him before Shizuo jerks hard over the aching heat of his cock and Izaya _screams_ , his voice shattering against the highest point of his range as his entire body convulses into overwhelming pleasure. Shizuo groans against his neck, Shizuo’s hips jerk forward in a reflexive thrust, but Izaya can’t spare any attention for the individual details; he’s lost under the wave of everything all at once, from the ache of his bound wrists at his back to the tremor running through his thighs to the lingering heat from Shizuo’s palm dragging over his chest. His toes are curling, his fingers are flexing, his heart is racing; and Shizuo is still dragging over him, each stroke of his hand pulling a fresh wave of pleasure through Izaya to match each pulse of heat as Shizuo’s cock spills deep inside him. Izaya feels like he’s going to come forever, like he’s going to spend the rest of his life quivering in helpless pleasure under the weight of Shizuo’s body pinning him down, and for the first several seconds of blinding heat he doesn’t even mind.

His awareness comes back slowly, in separate stages that he can feel settling in around him like his consciousness is fitting itself back to his perception. His legs are shaking, is the first thing he notices; in fact all of him is, his whole body is trembling with tiny, thrumming shudders that he can’t find the strength to stop even when he thinks about it. His arms ache, his shoulders are voicing protest to the straining angle he’s maintained for so long, and his skin feels sticky, damp with sweat and the slick of lube and the wet warmth of his come sticking his stomach to the sheets under him. His heart is still racing, fluttering rapidfire against his ribcage like it’s chasing down some impossible speed, but when he takes a breath he can fill his lungs, at least, even if the drag of the air at the back of his throat aches over the raw effort of that last shout.

Against him Shizuo shifts, adjusting his position very slightly as he turns his head in against Izaya’s neck. “Izaya,” he says, his voice dropping somewhere between affection and concern as he fits his mouth against the other’s skin. “Are you okay?”

Izaya licks his lips and makes an attempt at speech. “I am not,” he says. His voice is rough, worn shaky by the last several minutes of alternate pleading and cursing, but the words come out clearly enough, which is more than he was entirely expecting. “You killed me, Shizu-chan, at last you’ve completed your purpose in life.”

Shizuo snorts against his skin. “I killed you with too much sex?”

“Yes,” Izaya informs him. “You’ve been trying valiantly and your hard work has paid off at last. Congratulations, now you can go find yourself a nice boyfriend instead of me.”

“Shut up,” Shizuo says against the back of Izaya’s neck. He eases his hold on the other’s length, bracing himself against his elbow so he can push himself up and off Izaya underneath him. Izaya gasps an inhale as Shizuo moves, breathing deep with the relief of the pressure off his shoulder, and Shizuo shifts carefully back over his knees as he fits a hand against Izaya’s hip. “I like you fine.”

“I suppose so,” Izaya says, sighing himself into the best attempt at put-upon resignation he can muster. “A monster like you can--” Shizuo’s hand tightens at his hip, Shizuo draws back and out of him, and Izaya loses his breath to the drag of friction as Shizuo’s cock slides free of his body with a spill of wet heat in its wake. It takes him a moment to collect his voice again, and another to remember what he was saying; by the time he resumes his speech Shizuo’s grip at his hip is drawing away to skim over the dip of his back instead. “--Can’t be expected to have reasonable taste in romantic partners.”

“Yeah,” Shizuo says, sounding more like he’s humoring Izaya than anything like truly frustrated as he lifts the other’s wrists from the small of his back and starts tugging at the rope holding them together. “Whatever, Izaya.”

“I really _am_ losing my touch,” Izaya says, offering the words as if to himself while Shizuo unwinds the bonds around his wrists. “There was a time when I could have you rabid to murder me just for seeing my face.” The ropes loosen, the restraint gives way; Izaya angles his thumb in against his palm and wiggles his wrist to pull it free of the rope. “Now I can’t get you to so much as bruise me even when you have me tied up and at your mercy.”

“Yeah,” Shizuo says, pulling the rope free and tossing it over the edge of the bed to fall to the floor. “I like it better this way.” Izaya gets his arm under himself to brace at the sheets so he can push himself up enough to draw his knees in from around Shizuo’s and turn over to sit on the bed in front of the other. His wrists are showing the mark of the rope, the print of the texture is laid in close against his skin, but the pattern gives way as fast as he touches it, vanishing to the touch of his fingers rather than lingering as tangible proof of the experience.

Shizuo’s hand closes at Izaya’s wrist, his fingers wrapping in against the texture fading from the other’s skin. When Izaya looks up Shizuo is watching his face, his expression calm without any trace of the aggression that was such a regularity for so long, that Izaya had thought was a permanent fixture of their relationship regardless of what he may have hoped for himself. “Don’t you like it?”

Izaya stares at Shizuo for a moment. His wrist in the other’s hold aches faintly, like his skin is protesting the fading of the marks from the rope; but then Shizuo’s gaze drops, Shizuo’s thumb slides to work the color of the other’s skin back to unmarked smoothness, and Izaya can see the corner of Shizuo’s mouth turn up at the corner, can see the flicker of sincere happiness turn all the tension at Shizuo’s jaw and all the strain across his forehead into something soft and warm and so tender Izaya’s whole chest seizes hard on sudden emotion. He has to swallow to find his voice again, has to struggle to attain air for his lungs once more, and as Shizuo lifts his head to look at him again Izaya ducks his chin to hide his eyes behind the fall of his hair.

“Of course not,” he says, aiming for a mocking tone that he’s afraid falls flat against the knot in his throat. “Why would I want to be loved and appreciated when I could be getting a rushed fuck in some filthy alley, Shizu-chan, be reasonable.”

Shizuo snorts again, the laugh on his tongue much closer to audible this time. “That’s a good point,” he says, and he’s lifting a hand to touch against Izaya’s cheek, his fingers skimming across the curve of the other’s skin as he fits his hand in around the back of Izaya’s neck, as he settles his touch against the soft of the other’s hair. “I have no idea why you decide to stay with me since I went all soft on you.”

“That’s right,” Izaya manages. “Frankly the fire is gone, clearly we were never meant to last.”

“Uh huh,” Shizuo says, and Izaya can feel the smile on the words, they’re so close to his mouth. “You finally going to leave me like you keep saying you will?”

“Yes,” Izaya says, lifting his chin fractionally to bring his lips closer to Shizuo’s. “Absolutely. Any time now.”

“Mmhm.” Shizuo bumps his nose against Izaya’s, turns his head barely to the side. “Are you going to go right now?”

“Of course not,” Izaya tells him. “I’m at least going to let you kiss me first.” Shizuo’s laugh is warm against his mouth, radiant as sunshine spilling over his tongue, and when Shizuo’s lips touch his Izaya is already opening his mouth to make an open invitation of himself for Shizuo’s appreciation.

The evidence of Shizuo’s touch is already fading from his skin, but Izaya doesn’t need cold proof when he has Shizuo’s heat this close against him.


End file.
